The Closest Person to Him
by gahhMinerva
Summary: In an effort to protect her, Albus Dumbledore winds up hurting someone he loves. Will he be able to fix the situation, or will he only push her further away? ADMM. Companion to "Fallen Lioness," but you don't need to have read that to understand this.
1. The Toughest Lie to Tell

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters and ideas from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim to own any of them, and I am not profiting from this at all.

**A/N:** This is the companion story to "Fallen Lioness," one of my other stories. You don't need to read it to understand this one. This is the story from Albus's point of view. I hope you enjoy, and I hope that knowing what happens from the other story won't make this one not worth reading, haha! It's been a long time since I wrote fan fiction, specifically a lengthy ADMM fic, so hopefully it turns out all right.

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**The Closest Person to Him**

Chapter 1: The Toughest Lie to Tell**  
**

"I'm sorry, Minerva. It just wouldn't work out. Nothing is there."

Albus Dumbledore never thought he would lie to his deputy and best friend. His heart ached to do it, and he could feel his throat tighten as he watched pain etch upon Minerva McGonagall's face. She looked absolutely crushed, as if her world had ended.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, though he knew she was not.

Minerva nodded, appearing to fight back tears.

"Of course," she squeaked in a voice foreign to Albus. "I should go." She turned toward the door.

_Not yet…_ In his head, he rushed to keep her, if only a little bit longer.

"Minerva."

He had to rectify this in _some_ way, even if not in the way she wanted. The situation was delicate. He knew he was hurting her, and he didn't know how to take the pain away without reversing his original decision. But he needed her. She wasn't just Deputy Headmistress—although their work relationship was important—she was the closest person to him. He couldn't bear to lose her friendship.

Minerva slowly turned to face him. Her green eyes seemed to show a mixture of hesitation, sadness, and panic.

"Please, let us just pretend this never happened. We mustn't let our relationship grow awkward," he said gravely, not knowing the consequences of these words and his actions.

"Right," Minerva said tersely and instantly flew out the door. Albus could hear her swift footsteps echo down the spiral staircase, and in a second, she was gone.

Albus sank into the chair behind his desk and buried his face into his aged hands.

Pretend. He was certain that was something she did not do. Hell, he did not have much use for pretending, either. He would try his best, if it would fix things. But would she? _Could_ she?

He knew that Minerva would never erase this from her memory. How could she? If he had nerve to admit his feelings to his one true love, the rejection would surely be branded on his mind forever. She was a Gryffindor through and through. As for Albus, he was—

_A coward! I'm a coward,_ he thought. He was too afraid to face what would happen if he took that leap with Minerva. People would learn the news fast. He couldn't deal with the press; reporters would be all over her. They would claim all kinds of horrible things about her—awful lies suggesting that she had never actually _earned_ any of the successes she reaped, that she had only reached her position by sleeping with him. He couldn't bear to see the columnists spread rumors and tarnish her reputation—forget _his_ reputation… she was all that mattered to him.

And she was, which was why he couldn't fulfill her desires. The disappearance of Voldemort by the magic of the infant Harry Potter was no normal occurrence; he could return at any time, for all anyone knew. If anyone knew just how close she was to him, she would certainly be a prime target. Albus could not endanger her like that. As much as it hurt him to deny her, he felt it was better this way. He wanted no one else to harm her, even if breaking her heart was the way to prevent that.

_Maybe there will be a day, some day… when the world is safe._ Only then could he ensure her safety. Now, there was too much doubt. Her security could be no guarantee if Voldemort returned to power, no matter how powerful the magic on Hogwarts was. Even the greatest wizard in the world couldn't promise full protection in these uncertain times. And as much as he wanted to promise her his heart, now was not the time to do it. He could never forgive himself if something horrible happened to her because of him. He only hoped that she would be able to forgive him for this.

"Fawkes, what else could I have done?" Albus asked his phoenix, who was perched peacefully in his cage. The bird began to sing softly to his owner, as his twinkle-less eyes expressed fear and regret.

He couldn't retract his words now. They would have to move on. He hoped their friendship would be strong enough to withstand the strain he put upon it.

_Hopefully Minerva will _want_ our friendship to continue,_ he thought. He loved her. He really did. He couldn't bear to live without her in his life. But what was her perspective? She wanted more, and she hit a wall. He built that wall. Would she be willing to climb over it? Albus wanted to help her in any way he could.

"Albus, what did you _do_?" a voice from behind asked.

The headmaster whirled around and faced one of his predecessors. Most of the previous headmasters had left their portraits to allow Albus and Minerva to have some privacy. A few were sound asleep, or at least they pretended to be. Dippet was one who had left, and now he returned to find a very troubled man.

"I hurt someone I love, Armando."

Dippet raised his old eyebrows slowly and encouraged the current headmaster to elaborate.

"She told me she cared about me, in the way I had hoped she would for so many years. And I… I told her that I didn't share the same sentiments. I lied to her, Armando. I lied to my closest friend."

"Dumbledore, I know you're a very intelligent man, but sometimes, I swear…" The older wizard in the portrait sighed. "Please explain yourself, because I don't understand. What in Merlin's name were you thinking?"

"I just want to protect her. I couldn't live if anything were to happen to her as a result of being with me. It's too dangerous."

"…You just turned down the woman you have loved for _decades_ because you were concerned about risking her safety? Albus, my boy, I think you have had a grievous error in judgment. Who do you think is going to hurt her? You-Know-You, from the other side?"

Dumbledore felt he was almost being mocked by his friend, but he stood his ground.

"Armando, I have told you countless times that despite my joy at Voldemort's disappearance, I am also disturbed by it. I cannot let down my guard. I do not wish to imagine what would happen if I did."

Armando frowned. Indeed, this conversation about Voldemort and the war was not a new subject for the two wizards. Despite his obvious disagreement with his decisions tonight, he did not press further. Albus Dumbledore, of all people, could certainly handle the consequences of his actions, and surely he would see reason soon.

"I do hope that you have not destroyed something good, Albus," Dippet said solemnly, for he knew the headmaster too well, and his friendship with Minerva McGonagall was one of the things he most cherished.

"Me too. Me too…" Dumbledore echoed softly. He turned to retire to his bedroom as Professor Dippet's eyes followed him out the door.

Albus shut the door behind him when he entered his bedroom. Like his office, this room mirrored his unique personality. It was bright, warm, and inviting, and the decoration seemed to speak of every aspect of his entire being. Books on every subject lined a whole wall, and they were just a small collection from his personal library, which was in a connecting room. Everything from alchemy to history of magic to transfiguration to Muggle fiction was represented in his inventory.

Throughout the room, there were photographs on the walls, shelves, and dressers: pictures of him and Aberforth at the Hog's Head, the Hogwarts staff at the annual Christmas party. Since his days as Head of Gryffindor, he kept photos of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in the years that they won the Cup—and Minerva made sure to help him continue the collection when she became Head of House. He also had thick, leather photo albums of each graduating class since he became Headmaster. But his favorite picture was on his nightstand, and it was always one of the last things he saw before falling asleep.

It was a particular photograph of him and Minerva from a few Christmases past. At the time, he didn't know that anyone was taking his picture. The two of them were chatting and laughing animatedly, and Minerva looked as happy as Albus had ever seen her. This was the moment—the only moment—that she would try one of his lemon drops.

Filius Flitwick, the Charms professor, was the unseen photographer. He had apparently also thought it was a great picture of the two of them, and he gave to the Headmaster on New Year's Day. Albus wondered if Minerva also possessed a copy of the photo.

Tonight the picture looked different. Her smile had faded, if ever so slightly, but Albus had observed it enough to know the difference. Her eyes didn't seem to glow in the way they typically did. Albus sighed and replaced the picture in its frame on the night stand, the surface of which was shaped like a crescent moon.

After changing into his pajamas—purple with a pattern of Chocolate Frogs—he sank heavily onto the bed, immersing himself beneath the deep blue and silver sheets. Sleep would not come easily for him tonight, as he pondered how he could make things right with Minerva. The memory of the pain overtaking her face was all that his mind could see.

_I can hope—I can only hope—that she will be all right._

_

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_**A/N:** Thank you for reading! - Erin_  
_


	2. Patience

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable Harry Potter characters and concepts belong to J.K. Rowling.

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**The Closest Person to Him**

Chapter 2: Patience**  
**

The empty seat next to Albus at breakfast filled him with a pain perhaps Minerva had not considered. He would not dare suggest to himself that he hurt in any way comparable to her, but the stab in his chest was real. She could not have filled the neighboring chair for any more than ten minutes. It crushed him inside to realize that she wanted so desperately to leave because of _him_.

Their conversations that typically hastened the time and brightened the morning were painfully absent. Each minute lasted an hour, and every smile he shot at his colleagues was forced. The animated chatter he shared with his staff rang hollow to his ears and felt false to his lips. Minerva consumed his mind, and while he made sure to nod and respond as everyone expected of him, all he could see was the cool blankness of her face, and all he could hear was the resistance in her voice.

He felt himself be pushed from here to there, automatically going about his daily business as Headmaster of Hogwarts. His letters to parents and to the Ministry seemed written by someone else's hand, as if a magical quill were autonomously writing the lines on the parchment. No matter what he did or how much he tried, he couldn't shake her image from his mind.

Lunch was not any better.

He _tried_ to talk to her. The latest in Transfiguration study, the Gryffindor Quidditch team, a rather nice tea he had purchased from Hogsmeade—he could not hold her attention, or at least she would not let him. It was almost as if she could not hear him.

Others were only slightly more successful in their attempts to engage in conversation with Minerva. Albus noticed Professor Pomona Sprout cheerfully talking about only the happiest of small talk topics, almost unrelentingly trying to her fellow Head of House out of her shell.

"It is _such_ a beautiful day, don't you think? Unseasonably warm and sunny," he heard the Herbology instructor say. "It would be a _waste_ not to enjoy it."

Professor McGonagall bobbed her head up and down in indifferent agreement.

"I was thinking of taking a stroll after classes finished today. What do you say you join me? There is a very interesting species of flower I noticed growing by the lake… quite lovely, actually. You should see it."

Minerva sighed resignedly.

"Pomona, I'm not really—" She stopped short, as if catching herself before saying something she did not wish to say. "I have quite a bit to do this afternoon."

Professor Sprout did not argue. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to press further, but something made her stop. There was something in her tone, Albus recognized, that hinted her patience would soon run out. Minerva was not to be pressured right now.

She was also making up an excuse, as Albus could easily tell—not because she had told him the previous evening that the only things she had left to mark until Wednesday were fourth-year essays, but by the speed in which she asserted her busyness after altering course from her original, unfinished statement. She simply didn't _want_ to go out for a walk this afternoon with Pomona.

Albus dared to study her, long enough to take in the uncharacteristic emotionless mask that she wore and the avoidant look in her eyes. Although she always made sure to keep face as a stern professor and a strong person, she never attempted to hide her emotions _completely_. He was never under the impression that she believed that feelings were a sign of weakness. But today was different. Today, he suspected she didn't want any feelings at all…

And then, their eyes met, fleetingly, at least. For a moment, he gazed into her glowing green irises, revealing more than he could adequately discern in such a short time. He did catch their last message—panic—as she quickly looked away.

Before he knew it, she was gone again. This time, Dumbledore was not the only one to notice her swift departure.

"Professor Dumbledore!" a voice rang from across the table. Albus looked up and saw the school nurse striding toward him.

"Yes, Poppy?"

"Dumbledore, this is the second time today that Minerva all but _ran_ from her meal. Is she feeling all right? I would find her and ask her myself if I hadn't realized by now that she will never admit when she needs my help."

_Thank Merlin she didn't seek her out. Today, Minerva might have cursed her into unconsciousness for fussing over her sudden departures from the table, _Albus thought. _Now is she "all right"? Well, physically…_

"To the best of my knowledge, Poppy, she is in perfectly good health."

Poppy Pomfrey eyed him sharply.

"If you say so." Unsatisfied, she added, "Tell her I'm watching her." She stalked away, lips pressed thin, in a very McGonagall-esque way.

_I would tell her if she were speaking to me…_ He slammed his goblet of pumpkin juice down much more forcefully than he intended. _How the hell am I supposed to make things better if she won't even acknowledge me?_

"Albus, _is_ everything all right with Minerva?" Professor Sprout asked, interrupting his thoughts. "I couldn't help but notice that she's not quite herself with you today, and, well, I suppose she was not quite herself with me, either. I spoke with her earlier, and I know _something_ is the matter, but she didn't say what."

How quickly everyone could tell something was wrong. Were they really so predictable?

"I'm afraid not," the Headmaster sighed. "However, it is of a personal nature, and she will tell you if she chooses."

Professor Sprout looked unsurprised, as if she had already known what Dumbledore had told her before he said anything. She nodded silently.

"I thought as much."

Silence, for a few long moments, and then—

"Pomona?"

"Yes?"

"Can you—can you warn Minerva that Poppy's going to be watching her like a hawk at dinner? Seeing as she is obviously not talking to me…"

"Sure," she said. "I know as well as you do that she would not stand for an unnecessary health examination or, even worse, an unwanted stay in the Hospital Wing."

"Thank you."

"And Dumbledore, whatever happened, I hope to find out. No, I _will_ find out. I can't stand to see Minerva like this."

"I don't doubt that you will. Hufflepuffs _are_ good finders. And you are her best friend, after all."

"Well, after you."

Dumbledore shook his head. _Maybe not anymore._

"I suppose it's about time I get back to the greenhouses. I'll—I'll leave you to your thoughts." Professor Sprout studied him curiously as she rose and turned away from the table.

Albus found himself alone at the staff table. The Great Hall had emptied out significantly by now. A small group of Gryffindor boys remained to salvage the last of what was left to eat, and a quartet of two Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws huddled together over some sort of assignment. Glancing at his rather peculiar watch, he realized that afternoon classes were to begin shortly. He strode up behind the latter group of students to advise that they head off to where they would soon belong.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," they replied, obediently gathering their belongings, slinging their bags over their shoulders, and heading toward the corridor. The other boys quickly followed suit, and they ran out of the Great Hall, stuffing food in their mouths.

His office was the last place in the school Albus wanted to be right now. How was he supposed to concentrate on anything he needed to do when what he _wanted_ to do consumed his entire being? He wanted to rectify everything, at least make it so that his best friend would speak to him. He wanted to say, "I'm sorry," but he didn't know what an apology would really mean right now. He thought about what he had suggested the night before and wondered if by going through with it, eventually everything would be normal. If he pretended that nothing happened, would they believe it? He conjured a piece of parchment and quickly scrawled a letter in his customary purple ink that he always carried with him.

_Minerva_, he wrote.

_Are we still holding our nightly chess matches?_

_If not, I understand. Don't worry about sending a note; a simple appearance or lack of one will tell me the answer._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus_

He stared at the letter before him. What was he doing? Why would Minerva spend an evening with him if she wouldn't even sit for fifteen minutes next to him at lunch? He folded the parchment and shoved it in his pocket. Even if he thought it a good idea, he couldn't send it now. She would not be pleased if an owl from him interrupted her lesson.

Despite himself, it was time to stop worrying about his personal dilemma. He had promised to meet with the Minister of Magic today, as he had often voluntarily—thought sometimes begrudgingly—served as his personal advisor. He returned to his circular office and Flooed to London until the evening.

He returned to Hogwarts later than he had anticipated. Dinner had already begun. Every table in the Great Hall was filled to capacity with chatter, laughter, and hearty meals to eat. He saw Minerva, happy that she was still there, and thought perhaps his absence had allowed her some peace. For a moment, he considered leaving to allow her to continue enjoying her dinner, thus appeasing Madam Pomfrey and anyone else who had noticed that her behavior was off today.

But here he was, and he had vowed to pretend like nothing had ever happened between them.

"Good evening, good evening, good evening," he said to everyone when he arrived at the Headmaster's chair. He received a murmur of greetings in return, and, he swore (or maybe just hoped), even one from Professor McGonagall. Albus could see her struggle to keep face, and he was sure she only stubbornly stayed so as not to raise Poppy's suspicions. He did not dare attempt to strike up a conversation. He knew he was walking a fine line, and he did not wish to cross her—not here, not where he feared they might publicly make a scene if he made one false move.

She seemed to appreciate the space; at least, she didn't appear ready to dash at any given second. She chimed in a few conversations with her other colleagues, which Albus hadn't observed her do all day. She even—as trivial as it may have sounded to anyone else—passed the potatoes when he asked (albeit cautiously). As far as everybody else was concerned, everything was perfectly normal.

_Perhaps, in time, everything _will_ be all right,_ Albus thought. As soon as dinner ended, he plunged his hand into his robes pocket and clutched the letter from earlier. With a renewed sense of confidence, he hurried up to the Owlery to ask one of the school owls to deliver the note. After seeing the bird on its way, he returned to his office to wait.

The decision to come or not was Minerva's. All Albus Dumbledore could do was wait, and he assured himself that he would wait for as long as it took for her to come around. He would not give up on their friendship.

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**A/N:** Thank you for reading! I hope it is going all right so far. I'm not sure if I made it clear in the first chapter, but this is supposed to be a multi-chaptered fic... probably about 10 chapters.


	3. Searching

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

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**The Closest Person to Him**

Chapter 3: Searching**  
**

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door to the Headmaster's office opened immediately upon the visitor's third knock, as if he or she had produced a secret code to gain entrance. Albus Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, knew the identity of his guest before the door allowed this person access. It was a customary knock, the same three raps that he had heard many times before. He neither expected nor felt surprised that this woman came to see him tonight. He smiled wobbly, unsure of himself, in an effort to be welcoming.

"Good evening," he said in a much more calm and controlled tone than he knew he could muster. Despite the trepidation he felt, none was evident in his voice. Perhaps his supposed comfort with the situation suggested he was ignorant of his guest's feelings—she remained in the doorway, as if blocked by an invisible barrier, a wall of disconnection between them. She had to feel uncomfortable, uncertain at _best_, and contrary to the confidence he seemed to display, Albus wished he could show that he, too, felt like crumbling on the inside, even if only microscopically compared to her. He wanted her to know that even if he outwardly tried to ignore what she confessed the previous night, he would not forget that he had hurt her, and he would do his best to be the friend that he had been for so long.

"You may come in, Minerva," he encouraged as gently as he could, when she still hadn't set foot into the circular room.

"Right… of course." She looked so damn conflicted as she stepped over the threshold; Albus thought she would split in two trying to run away and stay put at the same time. A subtle tremor overtook her as she took the same chair that she did every night, and she breathed heavily, unsteadily, as she averted her eyes anywhere but at Albus's face.

He resolved to make things right. He _had_ to. Their friendship meant too much for him not to try, try, and keep trying. Sooner or later, everything would truly be normal.

"I'll—I'll get the chessboard, I suppose," he said, taking another step toward that normalcy he sought, toward that normalcy which must have been the reason why the woman across from him had even come at all.

"Then I'll clear a space on your cluttered desk," Minerva said as Albus turned toward the bookcase which housed, among many curious items, the old wizard's chessboard.

In the few moments it took to retrieve the game, Minerva had already organized everything on the desk into neat piles, uncovering a few things Albus managed to lose during the day. Magic? Not at all—

"Thank you, Minerva. You always seemed to have a natural ability to tidy any mess in a second." He smiled broadly, enraptured, as usual, by her willingness and capability to help him so easily. "What would I do without you?"

A rosy color flushed into the witch's cheeks. Albus had spoken lightly, almost playfully, but the question felt much more serious and heavy in his heart. He _couldn't_ be without her. And it would kill him if anything happened to her because of him, as he kept reminding himself.

"You'd be searching for hours simply to find your bags of candy," Minerva replied, a hint of a laugh hiding behind her voice. Albus chortled openly. There was her smile, and there was her humor. The pieces of their puzzle were coming back together. Everything was…okay.

_Right?_ Albus asked himself when their evening ended, and he had long since watched her descend down the spiral staircase. It was as if the previous night and their encounters that day—however fleeting, though uncomfortable nonetheless—had never even happened. _Isn't that what I wanted?_

A nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him to think twice.

_Wasn't_ everything fine? Customarily, she had a cup of tea, and she mentioned that she quite liked it: the new tea from Hogsmeade that he had tried to tell her about at lunch. (He didn't mention that she had ignored him telling her about it earlier.) Their chatter was animated, and her laughter seemed genuine.

_Was it forced? It didn't _seem_ forced. No, no, it couldn't have been—she really _was_ happy._

Still, the unwanted doubt continued to prod at his active efforts to convince himself that she was coming around.

_She lost._

That in itself wasn't unusual. She was a skilled, accomplished chess player, but Albus was far from inept. In fact, with tonight's match, they were tied in the number of wins against each other.

He swept back to the chessboard and frantically reviewed every move she made that game, wondering if any of them were particularly out of character. Did she make any foolish decisions? Miss something obvious? It wasn't as if he had won easily, but he couldn't shake the creeping questions from his head.

"Albus, what in Merlin's name are you doing?" the voice of Armando Dippet rang into the current Headmaster's ears.

"I'm—" Albus started, only to stop suddenly, wondering if any answer wouldn't sound absolutely ridiculous. Was he seriously trying to analyze Minerva's choices in a game of _chess_? He shrugged. "I honestly don't know."

"Go to bed, my boy. It is well past midnight now."

"I know." He sighed. "I suppose I'm worrying too much."

"Give her time. Maybe you _haven't_ made everything go to ruin."

"…You're not very reassuring, Armando." Albus pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Good night."

…

No amount of sleep or rest could placate his concern the next day.

Eight o' clock rolled around, and Dumbledore headed down for breakfast. It was Saturday, so the Great Hall was still somewhat empty at that hour, but the staff table held most of the teaching faculty. He greeted everyone he passed as he approached, saving his biggest smile and friendliest tone for the person who sat in the chair next to his. Only she wasn't there. Minerva McGonagall, always timely, and almost always at breakfast before Albus, did not presently occupy that seat. Puzzled, the headmaster took his seat and began to eat anyway, figuring that she would arrive soon.

Fifteen minutes passed. A few more inhabitants of Hogwarts trickled into the room. Argus Filch. Madam Pomfrey. Some fourth-year Ravenclaws. But not the woman his eyes sought.

Thirty minutes now. It seemed as if the rest of the school decided to file in at once. Albus scanned the crowd for a sign of emerald green robes. Was she among the masses? The House tables filled up as the waves of students dispersed. The staff table lacked only one person. Where was she?

His plate was empty now. The minutes slowed, and his colleagues' words swam around his head as he fixed his gaze upon the doors, waiting for the moment she would appear. She never did.

"_Dumbledore!_"

The old wizard snapped out of the clouds in his head and jerked his head around, locating the wand that had poked him.

"Poppy's been trying to get your attention for five minutes!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, drawing back his wand. Dumbledore looked across the table and saw a very cross-looking mediwitch, who frowned and raised her eyebrow at him.

"_Where's_ Minerva?" she asked impatiently. "It's almost nine o' clock!"

The others looked on with interest. Professor McGonagall was never late for anything, and she certainly didn't skip meals in the Great Hall without _telling_ anyone.

_Well, I most certainly cannot tell her that I don't know. I'm supposed to know! I'm responsible for everyone in this school, right? And I'm supposed to be her best friend!_ Albus thought, racing to come up with an acceptable response. _I can't have Poppy go on a mad search for her—as much as I want to know where she is and how she is, too—no…Minerva would not like that._

"I am sure she is in her office, caught up with marking homework." It was a logical and credible suggestion, but it was not satisfactory to Madam Pomfrey. She clucked disapprovingly.

"She knows better than that. I'll go talk to her—"

"No." Dumbledore rose as he spoke more firmly than he realized. "I will. I'll take care of this." He swept around the table, past the displeased mediwitch, and left the room.

_She _must_ be in her office,_ he thought, hoping more so than convincing himself of it. He bounded up the main staircase and turned down the corridor. What would he tell Poppy if she _wasn't_ there? Or worse, what would he do if he couldn't find her at all?

He knocked on the door and waited. He felt a sinking feeling inside of him. Again, he knocked. No response.

Was she ignoring him? He knew the password. Would he be invading her privacy by entering? It didn't matter. No one knew where she was. She clearly hadn't told anyone that she would be elsewhere this morning. Maybe she fell asleep on a stack of essays after their chess game. That was a possibility.

"Tabby cat." The door unlocked, and he swung it open and burst into the office. "Minerva—"

He spoke to an empty room. Everything was perfect, untouched. She hadn't been there at all that morning. He pulled the door shut and left to continue his search.

_Minerva doesn't oversleep_, he reminded himself but ran toward Gryffindor Tower anyway. His boots clicked rapidly against the stone floor, and his long robes flapped around his ankles as he weaved his way around the occasional group of students.

Finally, Dumbledore reached the portrait of Godric Gryffindor, who guarded the personal chambers of the Head of Gryffindor House. Breathlessly, he knocked around the image of the man.

No answer. He grew frustrated that he didn't know the password. For privacy reasons, he didn't know the passwords to the living quarters of the staff. Now he wished he did. What if something was terribly wrong?

"Godric, please—" Albus pleaded.

"Not even for you, Headmaster," the painted man said, "unless you know the password."

_Damn._

"Fine."

Sighing, Albus stalked away. No use arguing with a painting. He returned to the Great Hall, considering the likelihood that perhaps they had just missed each other during his quest to find her. Now half past nine, mostly students remained to occupy the vast room, and Professors Sprout and Flitwick were the only two staff members left to supervise—just in case any mischief would happen.

"You don't look good. What's wrong? What happened?" Sprout said when Albus sank into the Headmaster's chair.

"Albus, where _is_ Minerva? Not in her office, I assume?" Flitwick asked.

The oldest wizard shook his head slowly.

"I don't know. She's not in her office. She didn't answer when I went to her rooms. I don't know where she would be at this time in the morning. Her classroom? On the grounds? Surely she would think not to miss breakfast so as not to arouse Poppy's unrelenting concern."

"Perhaps she is traveling somewhere this weekend," Professor Flitwick suggested.

"Without telling anyone?" Sprout said incredulously. "And I don't think she is—we were supposed to meet about something today."

The trio sat silently in thought.

"I'll give her 'til lunchtime," Sprout said, and the three of them nodded.

…

11:45. He wouldn't miss her. There was no way she could grab lunch and run, if she were trying to avoid him—if that were even the case today. He would stay for the whole two hour lunch period, if that was what it would take to see her. Albus was determined that this would not be a repeat of breakfast.

Because Minerva normally was prompt for meals in the Great Hall, Dumbledore fully expected her to stride through the large doors precisely at noon. She would not be off-schedule for two meals in one day. That would be _too_ out of character. It would be too obvious that something was wrong, and if he knew the Transfiguration professor well—and he was quite sure that he did—she would not have anyone else suspect that she had a problem.

_Any minute now._ Dumbledore impatiently counted the seconds on his unconventional wristwatch. Five minutes to noon. He looked up and saw Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch wander into the room.

"Any sign of her?" Albus asked hopefully.

Professor Sprout shook her head, and Hooch darted her eyes inquisitively from Pomona to Dumbledore.

"Who?" Madam Hooch wondered aloud.

"Minerva," the other two said in unison. The flying instructor nodded in understanding.

"Look—perhaps we should find her before Poppy gets here and throws a fit. She was already on Minerva's case yesterday, and you can't keep covering for her. I don't know what's going on with her, but I am sure that a long lecture about taking care of her health is something she does _not_ want. C'mon, Rolanda," Pomona said, taking Madam Hooch with her.

"Be swift!" Albus called after the duo. _I don't know how many more excuses I can come up with. And as patient as she is with the students, she has grown exasperated with the staff and me after all the times we've avoided the Hospital Wing. Why don't any of us learn and acquiesce to medical attention?_ He sighed and wondered how every adult in the school—particularly Minerva—managed to be so stubborn. He was quickly becoming tired with the consequences of their history of refusing the mediwitch's assistance.

A large spread of food appeared on all the tables as people began to enter the Great Hall. Unable to eat with the knots of nervousness in his stomach, Albus stared at the entranceway, hoping with all the optimism he could muster that Sprout and Hooch would find Minerva safe and sound, and bring her to lunch, so that they could all avoid the aggravation of Poppy Pomfrey, and so that he could know that she was all right.

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**A/N: **Thank you for reading! And an extra thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited this story, or put it on alert. It means a lot to me!


	4. Secrets

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything from the _Harry Potter_ series.

**A/N**: Apparently it has been nearly three years since I last updated… This was not my intention, and I apologize. I know exactly where this story goes, and I will be finishing it, so no worries there. If you're wondering about my extended absence, I spent much of the time struggling with depression and some destructive behaviors that came with it. I got help and am presently in a good place, and I think I have almost fully reclaimed my life. This includes writing again.

If you have stuck around for all this time, I appreciate your patience and continued readership. Really, I do. If you are a new reader, then I warmly welcome you and hope that you are enjoying this story so far. _~ Erin_

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**The Closest Person to Him**

Chapter 4: Secrets

If the evening were to unfold similarly to rest of the day, then Albus Dumbledore dreaded attending dinner. That afternoon, he warded off Madam Pomfrey by telling her about Professor Sprout and Madam Hooch to justify Minerva's continued absence. As far as he was aware—or at least _hoped_—they were all together while Poppy was at lunch. Despite this hope, anxiety depleted his appetite, and he could only poke at his meal and consequently earn questioning glances from Poppy. (Fortunately, one benefit of being Headmaster was near-immunity to lectures about _his_ health.)

To some extent, he was lucky that Poppy decided to leave without further questioning him about Minerva, but he certainly did not _feel_ so lucky when both Pomona and Rolanda failed to return within the hour. As a result, he felt more worried about the whole situation, and this uneasiness did not let up as suppertime approached. If Minerva did not appear this time, he was sure that he would be in trouble. How could he not know where his best friend was? How could he completely lose track of her in less than twenty-four hours?

_And if no one knows where she is, then what? _It shook him to the core to think that something was terribly wrong with Minerva.

The headmaster took a deep breath before deciding to head down to the Great Hall. Hopefully his concerns would be unnecessary, and she would be at her seat at the high table, just like every other night.

On his way, he encountered a rather cross-looking mediwitch engaged in conversation with Pomona and Rolanda. He caught some of their words as he passed—they seemed to be discussing Minerva's abnormal behavior—and wanted to stop and join them, but he decided against it. He could ask them about it later. It seemed that they did find Minerva earlier, so he could breathe a little more easily for now.

Thank goodness he overheard the three women in the corridor because, once again, the seat next to him was empty throughout the whole meal.

"Pomona—" Albus stopped her as she rose from the table. "May I speak with you for a moment?" He quickly swept around toward where she was standing.

"Sure," Professor Sprout said, and they began to walk out of the Great Hall together.

"I want to ask you about—well, I happened to overhear some of your conversation with Poppy just before dinner—what did you find out earlier?"

The shorter witch stopped in her tracks and raised an eyebrow at him.

"About Minerva or about _you_?"

_Damn._

"Minerva told you."

"Yup."

_Well, now I feel like an awful person. She's been gone all day because of me._

"I wasn't trying to hurt her."

"I didn't think you were," Pomona said. "Look, Albus, I don't think you did anything wrong here. Minerva is one of my closest friends here, so naturally I feel for her right now."

"How is she doing? I feel terrible that she is she is avoiding everywhere else just to stay away from me."

"Of course she is still upset, but that's to be expected," Pomona said. "However, I don't think you need to feel so guilty. At least, I am not sure her absences today were wholly because of you."

Albus looked puzzled.

"What do you mean? Is she all right?"

"What? Yes. She's fine. I was just commenting on—well, don't worry about it. She can take of herself. What she was or wasn't doing today isn't really your business."

Albus sighed.

"I know. I just—I know circumstances are a bit different now, but—but it's not like her to be a recluse. I'm concerned."

"Albus, today is _one_ day out of all the days you've known her. Perhaps if she made a habit of this, you could be alarmed. Now we both know that she is indeed safe and sound in Gryffindor Tower, I don't think there's a need to be worried."

"I suppose you're right."

Pomona eyed him curiously.

"You don't seem convinced."

"No—I agree with you. I am acting like Poppy. I'm overreacting."

"Don't worry, okay? I'm sure everything will be normal again soon."

"I hope so."

The two parted ways, and the headmaster returned to his office. He sank into his chair and avoided the gaze of the portrait of Armando Dippet, who gave him a "You messed up big time, didn't you?" look. He gripped his wand, poised to cast a Silencing Charm in anticipation of a chiding that he did, indeed, make the wrong choice the other night. Surprisingly, the former headmaster remained quiet, and Albus relaxed ever so slightly. He pocketed his wand and began to distract himself with administrative responsibilities.

After about half an hour, a familiar voice emanated from the fireplace.

"Albus Dumbledore! May I speak to you for a minute?" Minerva McGonagall's voice called from the green flames.

_Minerva! Thank Merlin!_ Albus thought excitedly and all but ran through the Floo. He carefully stepped out of the connected fireplace and found himself in the Gryffindor Head's chambers.

"Minerva! Good evening, it is nice to finally see you today. You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes, that's right," Minerva said. "I wanted to tell you that I won't be able to play chess with you tonight."

Albus was just a bit perplexed. He wondered why she fire-called him to tell him this, instead of owling, for instance, or simply not appearing like she did for everything else that day. Perhaps Pomona had mentioned earlier how worried he was, and she wanted to prove that she most certainly was _not_ dead or missing.

The news was disappointing, but that was the lesser of his concerns as he noted her disheveled appearance on top of her odd behavior. Her dark hair was in an uncharacteristically messy bun (even on weekends, her hair was perfectly and neatly pulled back), and her robes were wrinkled, as if she had slept in them. In fact, he was almost certain that they were the exact robes that she wore the previous day, and not merely another set that looked identical. (She had a rather large collection of emerald green witch's robes.)

"I haven't seen you all day. Is everything all right? Are you ill?" An illness would explain a lot—such as Pomona's suggestion that he was not entirely to blame for her absences from the Great Hall.

"Oh no, I'm fine, Albus," she said quickly. "I just have a lot of work today."

As true as that may have been, Albus was sure that was not the whole story. She always had a lot of work to do, and she always managed to at least _eat_ around it.

"Truthfully, Minerva?" he pressed. "You haven't been to any meals today."

Her fleeting frown did not escape Albus's blue eyes. His persistence seemed to make her sweat.

"Er, I had a house-elf bring up some things for me today," she said nervously, as if she were trying to convince herself of that more than her friend.

"Oh. Well, all right, then."

_You're lying. Why are you lying to me?_ Albus thought, unsatisfied.

_Well, you lied to her a couple nights ago,_ a voice in the back of his mind spoke up.

_That's different! That was ultimately for her protection_, he protested.

_And perhaps you she is trying to protect her heart,_ the voice reasoned.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to take a break?" he asked, giving it one last try and quieting his mind's argument.

"Yes, I'm sure. I really have to get this work done," she said firmly.

"If you're sure, Minerva," he said resignedly. "Good night."

"Good night, Albus."

He trudged back through the Floo, feeling frustrated and confused.

"Okay, say it, Armando," he grumbled as soon as he stepped out of the fireplace into his circular office.

The former headmaster threw up his hands defensively.

"I wasn't going to say anything."

Albus raised a white eyebrow.

"No? Not 'I told you so' or 'You damaged something good, didn't you'?" He saw the look he gave earlier and was _sure_ he'd say something now.

"My boy, I don't want to hit you when you're down."

"Much appreciated," Albus muttered. He slumped in his desk chair and sighed. "She's avoiding me."

"Did she not just fire-call you?"

"She did, but I'm not sure why. She behaved most peculiarly, throwing out excuses like a second-year explaining why he didn't have his homework. Maybe _part_ of what she said was true, but not all of it. I know her too well."

"Or perhaps you don't, Albus," Dippet said seriously.

_What can he mean? I've known her fifty years, and we've been close friends for at least half that time. Of course I know her well by now,_ Albus thought, puzzled. He scrunched his face up in bewilderment and waited for some elaboration.

"Even the best of friends can hide deep secrets from each other."

"Not us," Albus said defiantly.

"Oh, really? Are you not keeping a secret from her?"

"That's different!"

It was Professor Dippet's turn to raise his old eyebrow questioningly.

"You say it's different because you're keeping your true feelings from her to 'protect her,' but maybe you're not. I'm not saying you're not trying to—" Dippet said when Albus tried to protest, "but maybe you're actually only hurting her. Lies do that, you know.

"Anyway, maybe she's doing the same thing: keeping a secret from you for protection. She could be trying to protect herself from getting hurt again. That would not surprise me. So is _that_ 'different'? And by 'different,' do you mean '_justified'_?" Armando looked pointedly at the current headmaster.

Albus was silent. How could he argue with Dippet's reasoning? The way he phrased it, it was clear they were both harboring secrets. And perhaps it didn't matter how he phrased it, because it would be true whether or not Albus chose to believe it. In some way, they were both hiding from each other, and he was reluctant to admit that he might have only scratched the surface of who Minerva McGonagall was. He had always been her confidant. Did that change now because of what he said? Or had she always strategically kept things from him, and he just never noticed?

"Well?" Dippet pressed.

"I still stand by my decision, Armando," he said firmly. "She knows she can tell me if she's hurting. Our friendship doesn't have to change."

The portrait sighed.

"I disagree with you, for I think it already has. And it is definitely too late for 'if,' my boy; I am sure she is already hurt. For your sake, I hope that your stubbornness does not cost you a dear friend for good."

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**A/N**: Thank you for reading!


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